


Dissolution

by Trobadora



Category: Rai-Kirah - Carol Berg
Genre: Alternate Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:14:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no place for a free Ezzarian in a Derzhi palace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts).



> In the universe of this story, _Transformation_ ended a bit differently ...

One step after the other.

I had long adjusted to the dry desert heat of Zhagad, but at this time of day the stone floor was pleasantly cool against my bare feet. I concentrated on that feeling rather than the pain across my shoulders and down my back as I walked along the shaded hallway. An interrupted beam of sunlight from windows set high above played patterns on the stone, and I stepped through the dancing dust-motes. I did not stop, but slowed for a moment, the sun's heat brushing my back offering a moment's distraction. I might have used my melydda to dull the pain, but there is no place worse for gossip than a palace, and someone would have noticed if my movement were magically eased.

I could not afford to draw attention to myself. Drawing attention to myself had got me into this predicament in the first place. I needed to remember my lessons better, the lessons I'd learned over sixteen long years as a Derzhi slave.

The same as I was now. It would not do to forget that, for all the things that had changed about my situation and about me. I might have regained my powers, my will, my ability to choose my future - but the choice I had made demanded its price. I had to remember to pay it. I mustn't forget. And I mustn't draw attention.

Some of it was inevitable; my position as Aleksander's scribe did not exactly make me invisible. But I'd too rarely reported for duty in the kitchens lately, which was where I was to go when Aleksander had no tasks for me. He had many these days, and I had to be diligent not to be seen as avoiding lesser tasks. It was easy to lose myself cataloguing Aleksander's correspondence, or transcribing Aleksander's map-room strategising, to prefer that to laundry lists. Since his return to Zhagad and his reinstatement in his father's good graces, Aleksander had taken a deepened interest in the various parts of the Derzhi Empire beyond their strategic importance, and had begun correspondence with many denissars, nobles and scholars across the span of the Empire. That interest served triple duty for him, convincing his father of his serious attention to his duties as Emperor-in-waiting, giving him a solid basis for the day he would indeed inherit said Empire - and, not least, I fancied, it gave him an excuse for constantly keeping a scribe by his side.

It was easy to become absorbed in these tasks beyond what was required of me. Too easy. I'd slipped.

The second under-chamberlain's frustration was only to be expected.

My own damn fault.

My own fault that I hadn't avoided the whipping.

Ah, no use dwelling on that either. I had to focus on my duties instead. _One step after the other, and don't make that mistake again, Seyonne_ , I told myself as I entered one of the many shaded courtyards.

I was half-way across when a figure approached from the opposite side, a slender and graceful woman, red curls piled atop her head. The lady Lydia, of the House of Marag, Prince Aleksander's wife for almost six months now. I stopped abruptly when I saw her, bowing deeply - then had to suppress a flinch as my back protested the unexpected change. I did not look up at her as she came closer, instead waiting for her to pass me.

It was a vain hope.

"Seyonne," she said brightly, but I could hear the false note in her voice. "How fortunate to come across you here."

She had seen me flinch. There was no point in attempting to avoid her now. I looked up, and saw her green eyes peer at me curiously, no doubt noticing the stiffness in my body as much as the red stripe of the lash that had snapped across my shoulder and curled around my right upper arm.

"My lady," I greeted her, but said no more.

I could, even without melydda, feel her stiffening, sense the tension beginning to bottle up in her. It was a mood she showed frequently, for one cause or another. Now her prim lips were pursing, and she was narrowing her eyes at me as she peered into my face with an expression half fury, half pity.

I wanted neither, but of course that mattered little. She was angry on my behalf, and so her anger and her pity I would have. For all that she could sincerely treat me as an ally and a friend, I was still a slave and she was still my mistress, my master's wife.

"That wasn't _his_ doing, was it?" she demanded.

"No, my lady," I said tiredly. "It is nothing." It seemed very unnecessary to me, this conversation, but then, anger was her lifeblood. She was always angry at something. Lydia could never seem to accept the things that could not be changed. She railed against her limits, and where she could not rail she would poke and prod and provoke those around her until something gave. But there were things even beyond her considerable will.

"Nothing?" Her voice was sharp as the snap of a whip. "I think not. How can you tolerate this, Seyonne? I have asked before, but you've never given me a sufficient answer."

She meant not only this moment and this day, but the entirety of my situation here at the Emperor's Palace.

She had indeed asked that before, and I had told her the truth. Not a slave's truth, either: I'd told her there were duties that were worth sacrifice. It had not been explanation enough, for her question had never been why. She knew and respected the why; it was how I could bring myself to do it that she couldn't grasp.

I said nothing to her, looking down at the paved ground and at my feet.

I could feel her growing impatient. "Does he even know? That infuriating man! How can _he_ tolerate it? Or does he simply close his eyes?"

"He mustn't know," I blurted out, looking up at her again after all. She had that effect on me, making me say things I didn't want to say. Besides, there was the faint hope I might deter her after all. Lydia had never had any delusions about Aleksander's faults, but with this, it was for the better that he remain blind.

Her expression softened. "You're wrong."

I cast about for an argument that might compel her to keep quiet, but came up blank. I tried pleading instead. "Please, my lady. It can do no good."

Naturally, she disagreed.

Lydia took hold of my arm again, dragging me along with her. She listened to none of my protests, and after a while I gave up on it lest someone overhear us. It would not do for someone to hear me speak to the lady that way. She invited it - her own family was famous for not keeping slaves at all - but the Imperial Palace had its own rules, and even she was powerless to change them.

Well. Not while Ivan still ruled. Once Aleksander succeeded his father ...

I turned the thought away. If I dwelt too much on the future, I would lose what allowed me to live in the present.

Lydia did not stop at the gold-leaf door to Aleksander's private rooms, shoving it open and storming in without a word. Prince Aleksander, anointed Emperor-in-waiting of the great Derzhi Empire, was reclining on a dark red brocade couch pillowed with deep blue satin cushions. Aleksander had been at ease in a sleeveless shirt and breeches, his warrior's braid spilling onto his right shoulder. Now he was tensing at our entrance.

When Lydia saw Aleksander was alone, her hand tightened around my arm, and she propelled me forward furiously. I stumbled before the Prince, but caught myself quickly, suppressed the hiss of pain from my back and went to my knees, bowing to him.

I could hear Lydia's frustrated hiss and Aleksander's amused snort at the unnecessary formality, but I only looked at the soft blue-and-red carpet beneath my knees. Red and blue were the colours of these rooms, lush and ostentatious, and the smell of nazrheel and perfume pervaded them.

"What is this, Lydia?" Aleksander demanded, challenge and amusement equal in his voice. It was a tone he often took with her, and she generally met it in perfect balance. "I'm often frustrated at the scribe myself, as you know. He has this terrible tendency to tell me the truth. But must you manhandle him so?"

That day, though, she was not in the mood for verbal sparring. "Clearly I must," she said coolly. "He would avoid both of us if he could, and I mislike his tendency to aid your wilful blindness."

At this he raised himself from the couch and stepped towards Lydia. "Stop speaking in riddles, woman. It irritates me. What is the meaning of this?"

Lydia was good at 'irritated' too. "Do you ever _look_ at him, my lord?"

He did so now. I could feel his eyes burning into me. "Get up," he commanded, emphasizing his words with an impatient gesture. I obeyed, stiffly, but I did not raise my head to look at him.

Aleksander was quiet for a long moment, taking in my posture and the mark on my arm. He no doubt knew exactly what hid beneath my shirt. "What is this?" he finally demanded. Of me this time, not of Lydia. His hand gripped my chin, and he forced me to meet his eyes. The feadnach yet burned deep inside the amber, showing a soul marked for greatness. He would change the world. But right then I would have been content if he could have changed this very moment and stopped demanding explanations of me.

"My lord." I said no more.

He bared his teeth, then turned to Lydia again. "What happened to him? What do you know of this?"

She was behind me now, but I did not need to see her to know the triumphant accusations Lydia's eyes were throwing at her husband. "If you have to ask, ask yourself what else you are missing."

This was all unnecessary, and there was no use to it. I was a slave. This was a Derzhi palace. What did either of them expect? But they were both high-spirited and easy to anger, and once again it fell to me to be the voice of reason. "It's nothing, my lord," I said. "The lady is overreacting." I threw Lydia an apologetic glance. She meant well, but what else was there? "It was my own fault. I was careless."

They both gave an incredulous snort, then looked at each other in surprise.

Aleksander ordered me to remove my shirt, heedless of Lydia's presence, and I did so, looking down at the carpeted floor, trying to keep my mind empty. It was nothing. Most slaves went about in no more than fenzai - short, loose pantaloons; the only reason I was granted a shirt in addition was to hide my scarred back, which was, after all, unpleasant to the Prince's eyes.

At least I was no longer wearing only a simple tunic; I'd have been naked before them, else.

Aleksander's hand was firm and steady on my left shoulder, but I could feel the tension in his every movement as he and Lydia inspected by bruised back. It was little more dignified than a slave market, for all that they meant well. I imagined them both studying me with disgust: newer scars overlaying older scars, fresh lash marks across my shoulders.

The scars were in the past, and the new bruises would heal. All this fuss was quite out of proportion.

Lydia disagreed. "You are Emperor-in-waiting," she complained to her husband. "Surely you can manage to protect one man. Or is that beyond you, my lord?"

Yes. Yes, it was. Whatever was between Aleksander and myself, that hardly meant I was any less a slave. This was still Ivan's palace, and Ivan's rule, and Aleksander could not and would not cause a rift between himself and his father.

Emperor Ivan had been withdrawing more and more lately, leaving the Empire for his chosen successor to rule. Everyone knew the succession would come soon. And Lydia knew as well as I did that Aleksander must tread carefully in the meantime. Any strange behaviour on his part might compel Ivan to take an interest again, and delay Aleksander's own assumption of power.

Certainly Aleksander could not afford to suddenly be too friendly with an Ezzarian, or to adopt Lydia's dislike of slaves, which the Prince had always roundly mocked.

Suddenly I was completely furious with Lydia, who should have known better. I bit down on it. Anger is not an emotion for slaves. _Don't look. Don't look to the future. Don't look to the past. Be in the here and now, and do as you're told._ That is all there is, and that was all there had to be for me if I didn't want to draw unwanted attention.

Until the day when ...

I stumbled too much, these days. Why had I allowed myself to unlearn so many of the lessons my years of service had taught me? But I was no ordinary slave, and things were not so simple for me any more.

Aleksander agreed with my anger, though not my reasons. "And what if it is beyond me! Druya's balls, am I supposed to overthrow the way things have been for centuries, all in a few months? All with the Emperor's eyes upon me?" He threw a hand away from himself in a dramatic gesture.

"Better than closing your eyes!"

"Damnation!" Aleksander snapped. "What should I do, pass a ban on touching him? Keep an eye on him all the hours of his day? What?"

"Whatever it takes!" she snapped right back, and they were at it again, in each other's faces, both spitting fury. Any moment now they would start throwing things. I generally found their contentious relationship entertaining, but I did not enjoy being the bone of that contention.

How had I ever let myself get into this mess? Why did I put up with any of it?

Ah, yes.

 

* * *

 

> We looked at each other in the secluded garden where we had met. It was over. We had won. The demons were driven out, the Gai Kyallet defeated; the would-be Khelid invasion repelled, Korelyi himself dead. And Aleksander had not only regained his father's regard, but been officially anointed the Emperor's successor. A better victory we could not have hoped for.
> 
> "Well," Aleksander said wryly, "you can finally have those slave rings removed."
> 
> I looked down at the iron bands about my wrists, then tilted my head consideringly. "Or perhaps not."
> 
> "They serve no purpose now!" He scowled. "And it's high time. You're free to rejoin your people. I am glad for you. See your wife, man!"
> 
> "Perhaps if Rhys had not survived his injury," I said quietly. "Perhaps then I would think to return to Dael Ezzar, and to see Ysanne. But Rhys lives, and even if I weren't dead to them I'd have no place with her." My erstwhile friend and betrayer had barely survived turning against Korelyi in my defence. Even for him, selling me to the Veshtar had not been palatable, and so he had in the end saved my life. I had returned the favour, and sent him back to Dael Ezzar. It was for Ysanne to deal with him, and for him to live with knowing what he'd almost wrought. He was neither stupid nor particularly malicious. He simply hadn't understood the true consequences. It was Ysanne, I thought, who ought to have known better.
> 
> But she must have loved him. Love blinds. I knew it well; I had loved both of them once.
> 
> I still did.
> 
> Now, though, I had no place with Ysanne, nor much interest in returning to the narrow purity of Ezzarian life. Perhaps as a Warden it was my duty to return. But perhaps I was needed elsewhere just as much. The demons were not done with us yet, of that I was sure, and they had learned much from the Khelid. Aleksander had no defence against them without me. He needed me.
> 
> And I did not want to leave his side if I had the choice.
> 
> Aleksander stared at me, his amber eyes burning with frustration. This was not going the way he had expected it, the way he had planned it. "You seriously mean to stay."
> 
> "I do."
> 
> He grimaced. "My father is considerably mellowed," he said. "It frightened him, that he was almost manipulated into killing his own son and heir. And," here a hint of humour returned into his voice, "your trick with imitating his voice has convinced half the palace Athos himself has come from the skies to interfere. It's humbling, even for an Emperor." He flashed a quick grin, then quickly grew sober again. "But that is nothing. He is Emperor, and he will not forget what that means. I cannot be in his sight with an Ezzarian companion, and he has never had any tolerance for Lydia's father's attitude towards slavery."
> 
> The House of Marag disliked slavery, and owned no slaves. No, Ivan zha Denischkar would not take well to any such thing, and much as he would not condemn his son again, neither would he condone what he would consider weakness. The Emperor had a very clear idea of how a Derzhi warrior should behave, and he would tolerate no less. In that code of behaviour, in that world, there was no place for me in Aleksander's life.
> 
> But then, I knew that already. "It's of no matter," I said. "You can be in his sight with an Ezzarian slave, can you not? One who reads your letters, and writes them, and serves you in the manner of a scribe. That is not so remarkable, is it?"
> 
> Aleksander showed his teeth. "Is something wrong with your head, Ezzarian? I offer you freedom, and you decline! Who does such a thing?"
> 
> A Warden with a duty. A man with a friend. "I accept your offer," I said, smiling a little, "for the day you are crowned Emperor. Then, you may do as you wish. At least," I amended, "if you prepare for the day and don't rush in like a bullheaded Derzhi, expecting everyone to duck out of your way if they don't wish to be trampled."
> 
> He huffed at me. "You're not serious."
> 
> I was.
> 
> Temper flashed in his eyes, and suddenly that amber gaze was on me with intent. He reached out, taking hold of my arm with strong fingers. "You have no idea what you'd be letting yourself in for."
> 
> "No?" I let some of my own fury show. Could he never listen to another without argument? But then, he wouldn't have been Aleksander if he had. "I spent sixteen years as a slave of the Derzhi. You think even the Imperial Palace could have anything in store for me that I haven't yet suffered?"
> 
> He slammed his hand against the carpet we were sitting on; tiny motes of dust were thrown into the air and danced in the sunlight. His eyes had not left me for a moment. "You think you have seen everything? You know nothing. Nothing."
> 
> He took be by the back of the neck. "Nothing," he repeated, hoarsely, and pulled me close. Our teeth clacked together as his lips met mine, and he kissed me harshly, all fury and possession. It was like and unlike that first kiss outside Parnifour, and I had not expected it at all, yet I could not find it in me to be surprised. Unforgivably, my body surged against his. He pulled away for a moment, laughing without amusement, then his mouth was on me again, hot and insistent. I let him in, my lips opening under his, my body moulding itself against him. Before I knew it, my hands were on his shoulders, holding him to me. We were both breathing hard when we broke the kiss, and his eyes were dark with need and something else I couldn't put a name to. "Seyonne," he rasped, and I could feel his hardness pressing against my thigh.
> 
> "Yes," I said.
> 
> His hands made short work of my clothes and his own. A finger pressed itself into me, insistent and rough and unexpectedly welcome. I gasped and urged him on, forgetting about our argument for the moment. It was not long until he hooked my knees over his shoulders and drove into me, all the while staring at me with that strange, terrifying intent. I could not tear my eyes away. I was panting beneath him, and all I could do was urge him on and _watch_ as he took me, making me his in the one way I had never expected.
> 
> Not even after that kiss had I thought it possible.
> 
> "Seyonne," he gasped again as he spilled himself inside me, his hand tightening around my cock.
> 
> _Yes, my lord. Yes._
> 
> Afterwards, we lay there quietly, side by side. I listened to his harsh breathing and tried to relax my aching body. It was not a bad ache.
> 
> "This is why," Aleksander said eventually, turning to me. His eyes were serious, but that strange expression was still there underneath. I wanted to keep it and cherish it, for as long as I could. "I'm a selfish man. I'm not at all good at denying myself. And you ..." He shrugged helplessly. "You were full capable of refusing me, yet you yielded. It would always, always eventually have come to this." He looked at me, challenge clear in the amber of his eyes. I could only stare at him. "So you see," he added wryly, "why this is a very bad idea."
> 
> I nodded, swallowing around the lump in my throat. I reached out and grasped his hand, pulling it to me. He did not resist. "Very bad," I agreed, hoarsely, and placed a kiss into his palm.

 

* * *

 

I had not learned better since.

"I am not closing my eyes!" Aleksander was protesting. Lydia's charge had struck home, I saw. "You must know I don't wish him hurt." He turned to me. His hand was still on my shoulder. I met his eyes. "Seyonne." The anger seemed to go out of him as he spoke my name. "Don't look at me like that." I wasn't aware I'd looked at him in any particular way. He sighed. "It's my damnable pride again, isn't it? I must know. Tell me how this came about."

I told him the truth. I told him I'd allowed myself to be distracted, and had spent too much time on something that interested me more than my kitchen duties. Farek, the under-chamberlain, had noticed my absence from the kitchens and, quite correctly, punished me for my avoidance.

Lydia's sharp eyes were on me all through the telling. But her attention was on Aleksander equally as much. He, in turn, grew more restless by the moment as he finally grasped the truths of my life. When I fell quiet, his hand clenched on my shoulder.

"This has to stop," he hissed. Lydia's eyes flashed triumphant, and I tried to control my own sinking feeling. Whatever he was thinking, it was not worth it. This was not useful.

A moment ago he'd been protesting his own inability to do anything. And that was why I'd tried to keep it from him: once he knew - knew, in any actual detail, and could not pretend otherwise even to himself - what my life was like here, for his sake - once he knew that, he would feel honour-bound to interfere.

And it would cost him. I could not let him.

"There is no need," I said. "I will be more careful."

His eyes were dark. "I remember when you used to think too much, but never said what you were thinking. Now, I'm convinced you think nothing at all!"

One last attempt. "Don't do anything rash on my account, my lord."

"No?" His hand tightened painfully on my shoulder. "Who are you to tell me so?"

I almost laughed at him. "You know who I am. What I am. And why I am here."

Aleksander hissed at me. "You are mine," he growled. "Do you deny it?"

I could hear Lydia's sharp intake of breath. Suddenly I was very tired. I gestured at myself, slave rings and all. "How could I, my lord?"

"Then it is for me to decide, not for you. And I have decided that this is unacceptable."

He meant well. I saw the gleam in his amber eyes, sparks of fury and compassion. I refused to acknowledge the useless emotions. "What can you do, my lord?" I said quietly. "You mean well, but you are Prince, not Emperor, and your father is keeping you close for a reason."

"I will not tolerate this!" He was in my face again. "You are my friend, Seyonne, for all that that's worth. I should have sent you away; it would have been far better. I should have refused you. But I did not, and so it falls to me to make sure you have as much of my protection as I can offer." He scowled. "Since you refuse to protect yourself."

We'd had this argument before. I was tired of it. I reminded myself again that he meant well. "Be patient, my lord."

His eyes flashed. "I am tired of patience!"

"Not even you have the power to change the world by mere will."

Lydia's cool voice cut through our argument. "Maybe not power." Something sparked behind the green of her eyes. "Maybe something else."

Aleksander turned to her, almost staring. The fury went out of his stance. "Lydia!" he exclaimed, eyeing his wife with appreciation. "You are a marvel. Have I been so lost to anything but brute force?" There was humour in his eyes. "Druya's horns! You did call me a bull charging at a wall, when I should have been looking for the gate."

I knew then that I had lost the argument. Whatever notion had come into his stubborn mind, there would be no dissuading him now. I had done better managing him when he'd been under a curse and transformed into a shengar, I thought, absurdly. That wildcat I had known to stare down and not give in; a shengar would chase a man all the way to ground if he sensed the slightest weakness.

The same was true of Prince Aleksander, of course. I'd let myself forget.


	2. Chapter 2

"Come, come," Aleksander said, waving the bowing under-chamberlain closer. The soft rustle of clothing. I imagined the man bowing deeply, then kneeling beside the Prince's couch.

"I have a task for you, chamberlain," Aleksander said and flashed Farek a grin. I couldn't see it from the adjoining room where I knelt and listened, but I could hear it in the tone of his voice. It was a sharp grin, a shengar's grin. He was enjoying himself.

"Yes, my lord," the chamberlain managed, out of sheer routine probably.

Aleksander proceeded to give detailed instructions about an upcoming party, the entertainment he desired, which slaves should be serving, and which guests should be offered special gifts at their arrival. It was a perfectly ordinary conversation ... or would have been, if not for Aleksander's improbably affable tone.

I imagined Farek's eyes flickering up to the prince's face again and again, the confusion growing on his broad, fleshy face. This was not what one expected from the Prince.

I knelt calmly on the soft blue-and-red carpet, my senses melydda-sharpened, listening to every word and every breath. My eyes were focused on the carpet. Something under my skin was bubbling. Aleksander had insisted I listen, so I did, though if I would have preferred otherwise. I had never enjoyed his games, even when I admired them, and this was certainly a game to him, if one with a serious goal. He played it like he played ulyat, the strategy game he kept pretending he was better at than Lydia.

Why was I kneeling? I might have sat, or stood, or even reclined on the couch. Aleksander certainly would not have held it against me. But I mustn't break my routine, or I would slip at the wrong moment.

That was unthinkable.

I looked down on my hand, and traced its bones and examined the skin as I'd once been told by one who knew survival, comparing the reality against the vision of how it would look one day, the joints knotted and the skin loose and dry. As I'd been taught, the day the images matched would be the day I was permitted to look back and remember what had been.

It was not quite like that any more, but the exercise still helped.

"Yes, my lord," the chamberlain was saying. He seemed to be able to find no other words.

Finally, Aleksander's instructions came to an end. I heard the rustle as he shifted on his couch. "I am certain you will dispose of all your duties to my perfect satisfaction," he said, still terrifyingly cheerful. "You are a very diligent man."

"Yes, my lord," the chamberlain repeated. This time, there was confusion mixed into the rote reply. No one expected praise in the Prince's presence. A brief pause; then his voice continued, somewhat rushed, "That is, of course I try my best, my lord. I aim in all things to please you, and your lord father, the Emperor."

No one would dare accept a compliment from the Prince without demurring, and certainly not a mere under-chamberlain.

"Yes, yes," Aleksander said, as if it were of no matter and he was just making idle chit-chat. "Your diligence is commendable, Farek. I praise you for it." In his voice there were echoes of a day long ago, before I had known him well. He'd greeted Lord Vanye in just the same tone, thanked him in just that voice - right before he'd had him branded. And though Farek could not know of that incident, any man who knew Aleksander must hear the danger in his voice. I certainly heard it, and Farek had served Emperor Ivan since Aleksander had been a child.

"My lord?" Farek finally ventured, when Aleksander didn't continue. To his credit, his voice wavered only a little.

I did not wish him ill; he was no worse than most of them, and better than some. It was not his fault that the world was changing around him, and no one had apprised him of the new rules.

It was not something I wished to dwell on, and I'd grown weary of contemplating my hands. I started to count loose fibres in the carpet instead. This one would need replacing soon.

"I have found you unusually attentive," Aleksander continued. He was very adept at making praise a threat. "Of course it is no more than your duty, to punish a slave for his laziness, but with one out of your domain so much, it took careful attention. The scribe spends more time in my rooms than in the kitchen, as I have all these blasted letters these days. Not to mention the other duties my father is passing on to his anointed heir. Yet you noticed. I will not forget."

I fancied I heard a small sigh as Farek finally understood at least the bare bones of what this was about. He still didn't know what Aleksander wanted from him, though. He must know Aleksander valued his scribe - that could hardly be missed by anyone - but he could not at all be certain of the meaning of this sudden effusion. He fell back on the usual "Yes, my lord" again and added, a bit tentatively, "I only desired to serve you, my lord."

"Hmmm." Aleksander encouraged him with a small conversational noise.

"Every slave needs a firm hand on occasion, my lord," Farek replied carefully, then apparently warmed to the topic. "It's my duty to see they all have it. Especially those with ... expensive talents." That was one way to describe literacy, I supposed. A Derzhi would sooner have admitted to knowing the skills of a juggler and entertainer than the even lowlier show trick of conveying meaning through ink. "Some of them are tempted to think it makes them better than others. It's my duty to teach them otherwise."

"Hmm-hmm," Aleksander agreed cheerfully. "It would not at all do for a slave to forget his place."

It was a hard thing, kneeling there, listening to him talk about me like this, even though I knew those were not his true thoughts. He was important, I reminded myself, and I trusted him. Beyond that ... I could only stay or leave; those were the only options open to me. I had chosen this. I must therefore accept the consequences, or else fail in my duty.

That was unthinkable, too. Or was it?

I thought of Sierge's death, engineered by that same scheming mind. I thought of Aleksander's cruel cleverness, tricking Sierge's family into forgiving the deed unknowing, which I had in equal parts admired and abhorred at the time. I thought of what he was doing now, the risk he was taking even in this small intervention. I would have preferred that he didn't, but I had lost all control long ago.

The day I had sent Rhys back to Ysanne, the day I had chosen to remain behind.

Or perhaps long before that, all the other opportunities I'd had to turn away, all the chances I'd passed by.

 

* * *

 

> For a moment everything seemed to swim around me. Where was I? Where had the men gone? Hadn't I been fighting just now? My head hurt, and so did my body. I moved my hands, and they brushed against grass.
> 
> Grass? Ah, yes. The spring in the willow grove. I was no longer fighting; I'd lost the fight, and had been captured. But I was not captive any more either; Aleksander had come for me. Lydia had received the message she was to pass on about the danger of the Khelid, and Aleksander had rescued me from the magistrate who'd been about to ...
> 
> I opened my eyes. When had I closed them? I was not clear in my mind.
> 
> Aleksander was bending over me, peering into my face. "Sleep," he said quietly. "Athos knows you've earned it. And don't forget."
> 
> Forget what?
> 
> Ah, yes. I'd made a promise, not to let him destroy the Empire if the demons succeeded and we lost. If he was taken after all, if he became a demon emperor. I would fulfil my promise. I would, if it came to that, but that would not happen.
> 
> I could not let it.
> 
> I let my eyes fall close again. But before I could fall asleep, truly this time, I was startled alert again. Aleksander had bent closer, and his lips brushed my own.
> 
> What?
> 
> What had Aleksander said, back in Dael Ezzar, not so long ago? _"I feel like a dezrhila dancer. Never saw how they could spin for an hour and stay upright."_ Now it was my turn to feel as dizzy as if I'd been forced to perform such a dance.
> 
> Here and now, Aleksander was looking into my eyes, warm amber shining at me, and when he saw no protest - not that I could have managed any, befuddled as I was - he bent closer again.
> 
> There was an indescribable expression on his face. He braced a hand next to my head and gripped my chin with the other. "Druya's balls," he muttered. "This is a very bad idea." And then he bent down, his mouth pressing insistently against mine, his tongue intruding between my lips.
> 
> _What?_
> 
> A moment later, the blackness had overcome me again. Some time later, I felt Aleksander lay his cloak over me.
> 
> "I would be honored to fight at your side, Seyonne," he said quietly.
> 
> Soon I was drifting again. But for all the strange feverish dreams I had, when I woke I never doubted for a moment that it had been real.
> 
> * * *
> 
> "Have them taken off. It's more than time. Blast my pride, I couldn't let go of him. But I won't have him bound now. Tell him to have them off. Or not yet, if it serves him to be taken for a slave again. But warn him. I won't be able to rush to his rescue this time."
> 
> I looked at the slave rings around my wrists, then at Hoffyd, who had quoted Aleksander's words to me. "He truly said that?"
> 
> Hoffyd nodded seriously. "I was of a mind to take them off while you were unconscious, but for once the Derzhi had a point. If he cannot make your choices for you, neither can Catrin and I. So ... will you let me, finally? Will you be free of him at last?"
> 
> Catrin scowled at me. "Of course he will. He has a duty, and he is far more important than the Derzhi."
> 
> I blinked. She had seen the feadnach, the mark of greatness, in Aleksander's soul, but still she did not believe as I did. Nor Hoffyd; neither of them could wrap their minds around a brutish Derzhi warrior with the spark we were all duty-bound to protect. That Aleksander could be far more than that, they must have at least glimpsed by now, yet they preferred not to see.
> 
> Wilful blindness. It was going around, it seemed.
> 
> I thought of Aleksander, whom I must catch up to before he was lost to the Gai Kyallet, the lord of demons. Aleksander who, inexplicably, had kissed me.
> 
> There had been real desire in that kiss, despite my half-delirious state. Despite everything, truly. It had been many years since anyone had found me desirable, and then I had hardly welcomed it. Being a desirable slave is its own kind of hell. But I was no longer young and pretty, and it certainly couldn't be my looks that appealed to the Prince. Whatever had roused his desire, it was more than physical.
> 
> Perhaps that boded well for his eventual marriage to Lydia. Or perhaps not; who knew with that stubborn mule of a Derzhi? Both those stubborn mules.
> 
> I had no time to waste on Aleksander's inexplicable behaviour; I had a choice to make. Where were we going?
> 
> Parnifour, of course, where he was headed. Parnifour, close to the appointed meeting place between Ysanne and the Gai Kyallet. But Parnifour also meant Aleksander's cousin Kiril, and if there was one thing that could halt him in his quest to destroy himself - for all the best reasons, incredible though that was, considering who he was - if there was anything at all it was Kiril. Of course he would take the time to see Kiril.
> 
> Which meant Kiril was who we must meet. How would the man respond to an Ezzarian, a man with an Imperial brand on his face, and the scars of recently-removed slave rings on his wrists and ankles?
> 
> The iron bands could be taken off at any time. I could even do it myself, if I wanted. Not as easily as Hoffyd might - some things are easier to do for another than for yourself - but I could. On the other hand, once they were off, there was no way to put them on again. And without those rings, I could not have gone to Lydia, could not have brought her Aleksander's message, the vital warning of the Khelid insurgency. Not even I could maintain an illusion for long enough if it came to that.
> 
> There was no rush, and Kiril might listen better if he thought me bound more firmly to Aleksander. A dim hope, but there it was.
> 
> I put off the decision. I'd wait and see.

 

* * *

 

I had never managed to make that decision, had never taken the slave rings off. Had never managed to convince myself to leave. Even now, if I chose, I could still be away. He would not stop me, nor could he if I really wanted to go. Nothing could stop me here.

And yet I stayed.

Perhaps because I knew what he was walking into, and that he was undefended against any demon. Perhaps because I was still, at the core of my being, a Warden, and defending one who carried the feadnach was a sacred duty I could not turn away from.

Perhaps because I was insane.

Perhaps simply because he was Aleksander.

At any rate, I had declined too many times; I would not give in now, no matter that everything seemed to be falling apart. Aleksander still carried the feadnach - he was still destined for greatness. And there were still demons in the world; Korelyi had been quite clear in his threats. The rai-kirah had been weakened by their hosts' defeat, but far from crippled. And it was my duty to protect Aleksander, whatever I might have to endure in the process.

For all of Lydia's anger, for all of Aleksander's indignation now that he'd been forced to leave his wilful blindness behind, there simply was no other way, not while Aleksander's father still ruled. If the distance between us seemed greater than ever, what did it matter? This was not about me.

In the other room, the under-chamberlain seemed to gain more confidence by the moment, spurred on by Aleksander's encouragements. "Oh yes, my lord. I assure you," he was effusing, "I will certainly see to it that none of your slaves give you any trouble. That is part of the task given to me, and I will not disappoint you."

They were still talking of punishing me. I'd grown tired of it.

My eyes were still focused on the carpet, and I had already counted all the loose fibres. One, bright red, had detached itself completely. I spoke a word under my breath, and it began to float. Just as easily, I knew, I could have set a knife flying, or tightened the chamberlain's ubiquitous kerchief around his neck if I'd been in the same room.

I did none of those things, of course. I never did. I didn't even get more comfortable on my listening post. All I did was float that single fibre.

I sighed and let it sink to the floor again. What was I doing?

"I will be firm with this one, you will see!" the chamberlain was continuing. "He certainly will not get away with that arrogance of his, thinking his price makes him worth more and his tasks elevate him beyond his fellows." He swallowed then, suddenly noticing he was giving away rather more of his personal feelings than was prudent.

Aleksander had bought me for a mere twenty zenars, though I'd probably have been worth at least fifty for any other buyer. The under-chamberlain of course could not know. That had been in Capharna, where the Summer Palace was, far from here in the north.

"You are forgetting yourself," Aleksander said mildly. "Your task is only to punish transgressions."

The under-chamberlain was thoroughly confused by now and apologised abjectly, though it was clear to me that he was still not at all sure what was expected of him. Aleksander graciously accepted his apology. Only I heard the satisfaction of success in his voice, the knowledge he had confused Farek so thoroughly, the man would never suspect what hit him.

"As I said," Aleksander continued, "I do praise you for your diligence. And to your special attention I commend this task." A small, pregnant pause. "Do as you have done, and notice everything. This slave's work is important; I take a personal interest. Therefore, when you notice a transgression, report it to me immediately. And I will personally decide on his punishment." Clothes rustled; I fancied I could hear Aleksander stretch lazily on his couch. The shengar-like smile on his face I did not have to imagine; it came unbidden to mind. I had seen it often enough. "One who works so closely to me should receive his punishment from my own hand."

That was a potent threat. There is nothing more dangerous to a slave than his master's _personal_ attention - and doubly so when that master is Crown Prince of the Derzhi. More than dangerous, that is lethal. Anyone with half a mind would know it, and Farek was no half-wit by any means. It was not his fault that he lacked crucial knowledge, and therefore couldn't piece together the puzzle of the Prince's true intentions.

"Of course, my lord," Farek hurried to agree. "It will be as you command." The Derzhi did not tolerate anything but complete and immediate obedience. I'd learned that myself early on, and for all that I had unlearned over the past two years, some things one cannot forget. But there was more than startled obedience in Farek's voice; there was something that was almost pity. No one wanted Aleksander's personal attention, and he clearly thought it a much worse threat than a few harmless lashes. The lashes would heal, after all.

Aleksander had done it. Farek might dare complain about me to the Prince, but that was unlikely. He'd probably be very unpleasant to be around, and he would constantly threaten me with Aleksander's own punishments, but he was sailing on a cloud of princely approval and was not likely to seek vengeance against me. And most importantly, Aleksander had not given away just how protective he was of me. The one thing he could not afford to be known, not while his father ruled.

It had been skilfully done indeed. And yet, I would have appreciated his skill far more had he not demonstrated it over my own bruised back.

I really should have walked in the opposite direction. Having the chance to be free of all of this, what had possessed me to go anywhere near a Derzhi palace again?

Aleksander hummed, amused, as the chamberlain bowed himself out, and moments later he came through to my listening post. His amber eyes were twinkling as he stretched out his hands to raise me from my kneeling position. "That should do it. Poor man," he said, snorting. "I almost pitied him." I snorted too, but I could not help be affected by his cheer. Then he scowled at me, or rather, at the bruises on my back. "Almost."

This. _This._


	3. Chapter 3

He used me well that night, though he was careful of my abused back even after I'd given in and finally used my melydda to dull the pain, at least for now. From his manner I expected him to remain quiet afterwards, Lydia be damned. They had argued again after his skilful manipulation of the under-chamberlain, and she'd left for the night, leaving him alone with me. What she wanted was clear: for us to speak and somehow resolve everything that stood between us. For some strange reason, Lydia, who would never tolerate Aleksander turning to anyone else, had no objection to his bizarre relationship with me. Indeed, she thought it important that Aleksander and I be well with each other.

The truth was, Aleksander had changed knowing me, and she gave me the credit. I thought she was wrong; it was the demons that had changed him. It was learning the truth about the magical threats he was helpless against, and everything he'd had to do to overcome them at last. What I had contributed ... well. She overestimated it, that was all. But the truth remained that she thought I was essential to Aleksander being the man he was. The kind of man she did not have to be ashamed of loving.

I had never told Aleksander about that, and I never would.

But she had been right about another thing, which I would never admit to either of them: I did love him, just as she did. Whether I wanted to or not.

I lay beside him silently, trying to decide whether I should say something myself. Or whether perhaps I should leave and go to sleep in front of his fireplace, where I had the privilege of sleeping these days. Few slaves were so fortunate, but he had much need of me, and after demonstrating it by summoning me from the slave-house where the slaves were chained for the night, several nights in a row, he had thrown a tantrum and decreed I must stay nearby at all times. That was the official story, at any rate. It certainly fit with his image.

But though he wouldn't hold me back, still I refused to leave without his say-so. And what could speaking to him accomplish? In the end, I decided there was nothing I could sensibly do; he would speak or not as he saw fit.

Lydia might have words with both of us tomorrow if we resolved nothing, but what resolution could there be? There would be no difference whether we spoke or not.

Why she thought she must make us speak, I didn't know. Why she could never accept her limits - and his, and mine - I didn't understand. She chafed at them, and her anger never seemed to run dry, and yet somehow she survived, even thrived.

I could never have done so, allowing myself to feel as she did.

And there was no use; none of what stood between us could change until Aleksander was Emperor. What might happen then ... I turned my thoughts away from it. It was no use speculating. _Stay in the here and now. Only what is in front of you matters,_ I reminded myself.

I had half drifted off into a doze when Aleksander suddenly sat up and gripped my shoulder. "Seyonne," he said quietly. His amber eyes glinted in the dim bedchamber, reflecting the flickering light from the single still-lit candelabrum on a sideboard.

"Yes, my lord," my mouth answered before I'd even blinked the sleepiness away; the under-chamberlain was not the only one who had well-developed verbal reflexes. Aleksander snorted as if he could see my thoughts, then gripped my wrist and lifted it in front of my face. It was dark enough for all colour to be muted, but the heavy iron band of the slave ring was all too visible against my skin, reflecting the low light. As if I could ever forget.

I struggled to sit up straight. It was awkward with my wrist in his grip, but I managed.

Aleksander looked at me, pensively. "I could take this off," he said.

My breath caught. And because I was a fool who never knew when to be quiet, I answered, "You could. But you won't."

Angrily he threw my arm away from him. I surreptitiously rubbed my wrist as he spoke. "No. I won't. I'm a selfish man, Seyonne, and I'll keep you. If you're to leave you must choose it yourself. I won't offer again; I'll keep you."

Now I began to understand. His anger was not directed at me, but at himself. It irritated me. "I refused your offer," I reminded him. I could not absolve him of his guilt in other matters, but this I'd chosen myself. It was hardly his fault that having chosen it did not make it easy to endure.

It was still my choice, though. I was still there, wasn't I?

He scowled at me in the dim light. "You chose to stay with me. Not to write my letters and serve my food and warm my bed."

What was the use of rehashing what we both knew? Must I spell even that out for him again?

"What other place was there for me? We both knew from the start," I very nearly snapped. There was nothing else indeed; there's no place for a free Ezzarian in a Derzhi palace, and even if he were of a mind to ignore that truth, his father would hardly have let him. He was not yet Emperor, after all. And Ivan might have been rather cruelly cured of his willingness to see madness in his son, but softness was another matter. I could just hear his accusations: _Is your wife making your choices now? Has her House's softness for slaves infected you? There is no place for pity in a warrior's heart!_ (Ivan spoke like that, sometimes. What did a Derzhi know?)

"And you did warn me," I continued. "In fact, I distinctly remember telling you that if you asked me one more time whether I was serious, I would set your bed on fire."

He rumbled a laugh. He'd laughed at me then, too, but he'd taken it in the spirit it was meant. He'd not asked again.

Now, he brushed a hand across the mark on my face, the lion and falcon branded around my eye and onto my cheek. His hand moved down then, over my shoulder, down my back, lightly brushing over the fresh lash marks. I did not flinch. He went on to trace the old scars, vivid reminders of my years in Derzhi service. I reached for his hand, pulled it away and held it in my own. He allowed it. "Don't," I said quietly. "It doesn't matter."

"I don't delude myself that it will never happen again," he replied, just as quietly. "You know it too. For all that I try, there is only so much I can do. And there are some things even an Ezzarian magician cannot defend against. Even when I'm Emperor, I cannot watch over you all the hours of our lives."

"I would not expect it." I had never had any delusions that being freed would mean I was _safe_ in his palace. Whatever would happen, would happen. I could only do my best, and I would live with the result, as I always had.

For a long while he was silent. Then he pulled me closer, his hands roving over my body. "I used you then," he murmured into my ear. "I'm still using you now. And I'll not stop. Athos forgive me, so long as you let me I'll not stop."

I shivered. _Then you'll never stop_ , I thought desperately. _Sweet Verdonne, then you never will stop._ But I said nothing. His hands continued to run over my body, his fingernails shivering over my skin.

Aleksander gave my shoulder a gentle push, and I lay back slowly. He nudged my thighs apart with his knees and settled between my legs. His arousal was heavy and hard against me, and I knew he felt my own response, no less eager than his. So many parts of my life here were difficult, but this was not one of them. I still yielded to him willingly.

He did own me after all; I'd given myself over a long time ago.

 

* * *

 

> The shengar's eyes glowed in the dark. I stood stock-still, not moving, although every instinct and every muscle screamed for flight. But I knew I must not run, must not trigger the great mountain cat's predatory instincts, or Aleksander might lose what tenuous grip he still had on his own mind.
> 
> If he hadn't already lost it.
> 
> I did not run. The only movement was my breath condensing in the cold air.
> 
> Aleksander had slept fitfully when I'd begun to collect more wood for our fire. I had made certain not to move too far from the camp, but I'd been distracted with thoughts of Ezzaria, and speculation on what was ahead. Never a smart thing to do for a slave, and certainly not for someone travelling with a man under a dangerous curse. When I'd turned back to the fire, the shengar had been beside it. I'd missed Aleksander's transformation entirely.
> 
> Had he transformed in his sleep? How much of him was aware? With each transformation, he became more shengar and less human. With each transformation, the curse took firmer hold.
> 
> I could not run. The huge mountain cat - almost half again Aleksander's length - would have me in an instant. And Aleksander would be lost.
> 
> "My lord," I said quietly to the shengar. Words were all I had to guide him. That he was listening to a slave was a miracle in itself, but he had little choice. I did not delude myself that it meant anything. "Have you been dreaming? Your mind is still your own, if you will hold on to it. Do not allow yourself to slip."
> 
> The shengar growled at me and took a step forward. I focused on it with all my senses, and I fancied I could see the tension in its limbs beneath the tawny coat, could feel its rumble and smell its breath. I saw its muscles ripple and tense in readiness, and I knew what was coming. I remained still, standing calmly as the powerful cat charged at me.
> 
> I knew the danger I was in. If Aleksander lost his grip for even a moment, I was dead meat.
> 
> I was slammed into the ground. The shengar's front paws were on my shoulders; I was pinned. I stared up at its muzzle, at the sharp teeth bared in fury. "Yes, my lord," I said. "I agree, it's quite frustrating. But soon we will be with those who can help you. It's not far now. You must hold on."
> 
> I should have been terrified. But a strange, serene calm had come over me, and looking into the shengar's eyes, there was not a shred of fear in me. I remembered what it had been like the first time, the beast screaming its fury at me - I had been terrified then, for all that I had managed to remain calm. My calm had been what had allowed Aleksander to keep control of himself. My calm had been what had saved my life. But it was nothing like that now. I simply was not afraid.
> 
> I'd told Aleksander once I didn't have it in me to fear him; there were too many truly terrifying things in the world. A man cursed by a demon into a shengar's form, a shengar's mind should certainly have been among them.
> 
> Perhaps, I thought with strange detachment, the last part of me had finally broken, and I'd managed to lose the one thing I could not bring myself to let go even through all those years as a slave to the Derzhi. Perhaps I had finally lost my last remaining bit of the will to live.
> 
> Above me, the shengar closed its mouth, hiding its sharp teeth. It ducked its head, nudging me. Its whiskers tickled my chin, and I let out a startled half-laugh.
> 
> "Aleksander?" I said. "My lord, are you all right?" It was Aleksander. I could not be afraid of him.
> 
> The shengar nudged me again. I looked into its eyes, and all I could see was Aleksander. "You are stronger," I told him. "You are in control."
> 
> It almost looked as if the great cat were rolling its eyes at me. It was then that I realised what I felt. It was not the absence of fear. It was trust. I trusted Aleksander, despite all that he had done to me, despite all that he had done besides. I trusted him completely, even in the form of a shengar and a hair's breadth from losing his mind.
> 
> Now my stomach did clench in terror - not of the beast, nor of Aleksander, but of myself and what was happening to me. I was his slave. He still, for all the changes he had gone through, could not even conceive of anyone helping him for any other reason than that they must. I was stupid. I was a complete idiot. Is there anything more stupid for a slave to do than _trust_ his master? Even presuming the best of intentions, how could it be anything but a disaster?
> 
> And Aleksander's intentions could hardly be called the best. He was a spoiled, arrogant, self-absorbed, murderous Derzhi.
> 
> I managed to get my limbs under control and pushed the shengar off me. He hissed at me, but let himself be moved. "My lord," I said quietly, pushing aside everything that had gone through my mind. "Let us move back to the fire. We should not let it go to waste."
> 
> The great cat looked at me as if amused, and bounded ahead of me. Beside the fire it turned back, tilting its head as if to say, _Well, Seyonne? What are you waiting for? Come along!_
> 
> I gathered the wood I had collected and went.

 

* * *

 

Stupid, blind, utter trust. That was the fury and the terror of it: I could not let it go. And Aleksander had proven himself worthy, had learned eventually to aspire to more than common Derzhi virtues or vices. Even as I lay beneath him, I could see it clearly.

And with his skin against mine, how could I not believe what I saw beneath?

After a while, Aleksander wanted more; rubbing himself against me was not enough. He let me up enough that I could turn, and his fingers were inside me almost as soon as I'd settled on elbows and knees, offering myself up for him. Two fingers, and without oil, but I was still loose from earlier, and it felt nothing but good. His fingers pressed into that spot inside me, and I arched beneath him, biting down a wordless scream.

Then he was pushing into me already, hard and insistent, and this time it did sting as he breached me. I let out a low moan. He shuddered in response, and with one convulsive push he was fully inside me, deep, white-hot pleasure spiking though me. He gripped my hips tightly, his fingernails digging into my skin, and took me, thrusting into me again and again, and it was all I could do to push back against him, welcoming him.

I didn't scream when I came, though it was a near thing, and all he let hear with his release was a low, satisfied grunt. He pulled out of me and lay back in the pillows, breathing heavily. I let myself sink to sit on my calves, but remained in my position otherwise, my forehead pressed against the mattress; I'd not have been able to move if I'd wanted.

After a while his hand settled on my shoulder. "Seyonne? I've not hurt you?" he asked quietly.

"Don't be ridiculous," I mumbled into the mattress, irritated afresh. "I'm no lover of pain, as well you know."

He pulled me on my side and wrapped an arm around me, his chest against my back. "I always use you," he muttered, half accusingly, half bitter. And there was no denying it; he did. Still, there was little point to his complaints, and I'd have given much to be able to make him cease them. For a short while, out in the desert after we'd defeated the Gai Kyallet, on the way to Zhagad, I'd been able to speak to him almost as an equal; he'd taken me seriously then. And in Zhagad, after we had saved him from the executioner and Koralyi was dead, he'd believed me when I'd said I wanted to stay. It had taken a while to get it through his thick Derzhi skull, but he had. Now? I was only a slave, and of course I couldn't be trusted to tell the truth about what I wanted.

I tried to swallow the bitter truth of it; it stuck in my throat.

After a moment, I removed myself from his arms and turned around, glaring at him. He raised his eyebrows at the unexpected emotion, but did nothing to stop me. "Damn you," I whispered harshly. "Damn you to _hell_. I've given everything for you, sacrificed all that I had, all I could have hoped to gain - for you and for _this_ , imperfect though it may be. To be here and protect you. To be _here_. So it would behove you, even you, great prince, to at least do me the courtesy of accepting the gift I've given you. Instead you constantly doubt it, and me, and yourself, and I cannot tolerate it any longer. I _cannot_."

The limits of my life I had long accepted. Painful though it was, I had cut myself down again and again until I fit them. Yet it seemed I had finally reached my end: the point where even I could no longer deny my anger.

Perhaps Lydia's approach to life had something going for it after all.

I took a deep, shuddering breath. I'd not known I was going to say any of this before it had come out of my mouth, but now that I'd started I could not stop. "Perhaps your self-recriminations do you credit; you certainly would have felt no such thing when first we met. But you are burdening me with them, and putting on me the duty of persuading you to set them aside." I swallowed convulsively, then tried again. "By our mutual agreement I am yours; you may do with me what you wish. But I beg of you - if you cannot accept this, if all you can do is doubt us both, then ..." I swallowed. It hurt to even think it, after all we'd been through, after all I had given, but it needed to be said. "Then perhaps I should ask you to remove my slave rings after all. Then perhaps I should go to Dael Ezzar or elsewhere, and not return until you are Emperor and no longer have any excuse. Tell me, my lord. Should I go? Perhaps we'd both be better off for that. Perhaps it would be worth the risk after all." My eyes stung, and I did not believe a word of it. I was terrified he'd take me at my word and cast me away, almost as much as I feared that he'd not listen to me at all. And yet there was something in my soul that was lighter, having said those words.

Looking him in the eye would have been too much, though. I turned away.

He gripped me roughly and turned me back to him. "Never," he rasped. "Never." And then his lips were on mine in a bruising, biting kiss as he took possession of my mouth.

A long while later, we both sat breathing heavily, leaning against each other. "Forgive me," he whispered. "I never meant to doubt you, or to reject your gift. I just wish I could offer you better than this."

"I know this."

He sighed. "Yes, of course you do, and I've done you no favour here, I know." His face twisted into a bitter grimace. Then he cupped my cheek in his hand, and I couldn't help leaning into it a little. He smiled, sadly, and continued, "I've no wish to lose you, this way or any other. And you did choose this. It's churlish to ask for something and then refuse it, so you'd better accept it."

"As soon as you do," I replied. I almost - still! - wanted to reach for him, to comfort him in this, but I had no comfort left to give.

"I do," he said harshly. "I'll have the use of you, never worry, and I'll not trouble you with my infernal scruples again."

He knew well enough that wasn't what I'd meant.

I kept my silence, waiting, and eventually he sighed again. "I know," he said quietly. "For all you've given me, I'm a brute to treat you such." It was almost an apology. He, Aleksander, crown prince of the Derzhi, was apologising. Not something that came easy to him. But he meant it, and the harshness in his voice was directed only at himself. "Never doubt that you have my highest regard."

I didn't; that was the crux of it.

I reached out for him after all, and my hand settled on his shoulder. He put his own over it and said quietly, "Be at ease, Seyonne."

I said nothing; there was no need. But there was a future ahead of us, and for the first time in a long while I allowed myself to think of it. Then I did lean into him, and I did let him hold me, and we were quiet for a long time.


End file.
